


The Pendragon Affair

by Taylor Dancinghands (tdancinghands)



Series: Sentinels from UNCLE [3]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Sentinels & Guides, Alternate Universe - Sentinels and Guides Are Known, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-08
Updated: 2018-05-08
Packaged: 2019-05-04 01:23:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14581869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tdancinghands/pseuds/Taylor%20Dancinghands
Summary: Napoleon and Illya are called in when airport officials in San Francisco are threatened with a laser attack on northbound passenger planes and UNCLE thinks it looks like a Thrush operation. Chasing down the villain's probable base on Mt Tam, our heroes discover that this affair involves Sentinel business too, for Mt Tam hides its own secrets —a forgotten shrine, sacred to Sentinels, which is also imperiled.





	1. Prologue:"UNCLE business or Sentinel business?"

Nathan Richardson, Sheriff of Marin County, California, met them in the front lobby of the department headquarters, in the Marin County Courthouse, in downtown San Rafael. The sleepy little mission town, an hour or so north of San Francisco, looked to Illya to be an unlikely spot for a Thrush backed extortion scheme, but that, of course, was just why they would have chosen it. That and its convenient location under several of the primary flight paths used by the San Francisco International Airport.

"Agent Solo, Agent Kooreeyahkin," the sheriff greeted them each with a firm handshake. The mispronunciation was a matter of inexperience, rather than contempt; Illya had long ago learned to tell the difference. The man's demeanor was as no-nonsense as his brush-cut salt and pepper hair and Illya figured him for a Marine. He was also a fellow Sentinel.

He had Illya sized up right away as well, stepping back after he'd shaken Illya's had to look him up and down.

"You gentlemen here on UNCLE business or Sentinel business?" he asked.

"Both, as it happens," Napoleon answered smoothly. "Is there somewhere we can talk?"

Sheriff Richardson led them past the reception desk, exchanging a smile and a nod with the woman there.

"You fellas be wanting some coffee?" she asked. 

"Yes please, ma'am," the sheriff answered as they passed down a short corridor to a meeting room. They took seats in folding chairs set around a heavy wooden table, its surface marked by years of scratches and coffee rings.

"Let's start with the UNCLE business," Sheriff Richardson said. "You here looking for the source of those laser attacks on northbound flights out of the city?"

"You are correct," Illya replied. Illya had read what the local papers were reporting about the matter: a series of incidents in which pilots reported seeing a bright red dot of light appear in their cockpits, clearly originating from outside the plane. "But the situation has escalated. Yesterday, airport officials received an extortion letter. Half a million dollars to be deposited into a certain Swiss bank account or the next attack would bring a plane down."

Richardson gave a low whistle. "Deputy Kendall said it would come to that," he commented. "And UNCLE thinks it's coming from somewhere here in Marin?"

"UNCLE scientists have triangulated the data from the previous incidents," Napoleon explained, "and have generated a set of coordinates." He extracted a small notebook from his vest pocket and opened it to the desired page. "I take it you have a good map for the area? he asked.

Richardson nodded, rising to cross to a map chest, just as the woman from the front desk entered with a tray full of coffee, cups, sugar and creamer.

"Thanks, Dot," the sheriff commented. "If you could stay for a moment? These gentlemen claim to be here on Sentinel business, in addition to those airplane attacks."

For a moment Illya wondered why the receptionist was being invited to join them, then he caught Napoleon gesturing subtley to his left hand ring finger. Of course, she was the sheriff's wife, and his Guide.

The coffee went on one end of the table, and the map was unrolled on the other as they gathered round and Illya located the coordinates he had in his notebook on the map before them. 

"Mount Tam," the sheriff commented immediately. "Well that makes sense. He'd have the altitude he needs to hit the cockpit."

"You're saying that's where the laser was coming from?" the sheriff's wife asked. "Here, I was thinking it was just some college prank."

"Unfortunately, it is far more serious," Napoleon replied. "The attacker has been communicating with the authorities, under the name 'Pendragon', and has threatened to bring a plane down if his demands for money are not met."

"That's just terrible!" she exclaimed, turning to take her Sentinel's hand. "What kind of man would do such a thing?"

"The kind of men we are frequently sent to put a stop to, as UNCLE agents," Illya said. 

"And to do that, it looks like we need to make a visit to… Mount Tam-al-pais?" Napoleon continued, stumbling over the name.

"It's pronounced,  _ Tam _ -el- _ Py _ -is," said the sheriff's wife. "But everyone here just calls it Mount Tam."

"I wonder if this Pendragon fellow is connected with those hoodlums from Oakland who've been holed up out on Mount Tam?" the sheriff wondered. "In any case, we should plan a trip out first thing tomorrow, as it's late now, and we'll want Deputy Kendall. He knows that area like the back of his hand, but he's been out all day looking for those fugitives from Oakland someone said they saw camping out there."

"Tomorrow should be fine," Illya said, moving to the other end of the table to get a cup of coffee and take a seat. "Now I'd like to discuss the Sentinel business, if I may."

The others followed him and took seats, though Richardson introduced his wife first. "Gentlemen, this is my Guide, and my wife, as I'm sure you've figured out, Dorothy."

"But nobody ever calls me Dorothy, sweetheart," she prodded him playfully. "If you have to be formal you can call me Mrs Richardson, otherwise, you can just call me 'Dot', like everyone else."

"Then you may call me Illya, or Mr Kuryakin, as you wish," Illya replied. "But my Guide here prefers to go by, 'Mr Solo'. He will explain to you the nature of our Sentinel business."

"There's two things, really," Napoleon began, stirring his coffee. "The first is simply to meet with you personally, to ask how much contact you have with other Sentinels and Guides in your area, and whether any of you have formed your own Prides or networks, or inherited them from those who came before?"

"You sound like someone trying to organize something," the sheriff said.

"More like trying to get some idea of what organizations exist already," Illya said, "and encourage you and any other Sentinels you know, to organize yourselves, wherever you see a need. We promise to lend whatever assistance we can."

"And just what kind of assistance can you lend?" the sheriff inquired. "UNCLE assistance? Federal assistance? Communist assistance?"

"None of the above," stated Napoleon without batting an eye. "We are speaking now only as the Alpha Sentinel and Guide of North America… until someone else can come along and make a better claim than us."

Sheriff Richardson took a thoughtful sip of coffee, but made no immediate reply. After a moment his wife did.

"Adam doesn't mean to be rude," she said. "And naturally, we've heard the rumors… that some Russian Sentinel was 'taking over' all the Sentinels and Guides in the US. Of course, we know you're not really 'taking over'..."

"I am glad to hear you say so," Napoleon replied. "Illya and I have enough work as UNCLE agents, and we have our own boss who demands most of our time. But we had an experience in Europe a few years ago, where we found out that Sentinels over there have a sort of social hierarchy… along with a fairly formal network and territory protocols. Now this isn't Europe, and we're never going to do things exactly the way they do, but we've come to see how having a communication system at least can come in pretty handy. The current situation is a case in point."

"So you are here to talk about the Guide dreams," the sheriff said.

"We are," Illya answered. "And the fact that you clearly know them to be a phenomenon beyond your own Guide tells me that you already have some kind of local Sentinel network operating here."

"I suppose we do at that," said Dot. "It's not anything formal."

"It doesn't have to be," Napoleon said. "As long as you've got some way of getting the word out, and of hearing what's going on with neighboring Sentinels."

"So what are other people saying about this Guide dream?" the sheriff asked.

"Everyone who has spoken to us about it has described a strong sense of urgency," Illya said, though his words belied the state of panic Napoleon had woken in just two weeks ago, bolting upright in bed in the middle of the night, crying "Stop! Stop the defiler!"

"The very morning after I first had the dream," Napoleon continued. "A Guide we met a couple of years ago called us up and described the very same dream, but in greater detail. She said that all Sentinels and Guides are called by this dream to protect some special place, 'sacred to Sentinels' which, was in danger of being harmed in some way. Within days we had received reports of Guides all over the country experiencing the same dream, to the point that even UNCLE was getting these reports. The consensus we've been able to gain so far is that this sacred place is in the west, possibly on a mountain, and in some natural area."

"The very next morning after I had my first dream," said Dot after a moment's reflection, "we had the first report from a commercial pilot about seeing a laser in their cockpit."

"And what date was that?" Napoleon asked, drawing a notebook from his breast pocket. The discussion that followed was somewhat tedious, and involved Dot running home to return with their kitchen calendar, but resulted the kind of irrefutable data that any Sentinel, or UNCLE agent, would relish. What they eventually worked out was that Napoleon, Dot, and a handful of the strongest Guides in the US had all had the dream on the same night, before anyone else. Like ripples in a pond, other Guides, starting with those who lived in Northern California, came to experience the dream over the next few days, and every time there was a report of a laser sighting, the phenomenon repeated itself.

The laser incidents were absolutely connected with the dreams, and furthermore, the epicenter seemed to be right here, in Marin County, possibly on Mount Tam.

"So is it a coincidence that this Pendragon character seems to be operating in close proximity to some Sacred Sentinel spot?" Illya asked over the meal of hamburgers, fries and shakes which they'd carried in to their hotel room later that night.

"Or, was there something about the place that attracted him?" Napoleon mused. "I wish Abigail had been able to tell us more about what this 'sacred place' was all about."

"So does she," Illya replied, for indeed, their Guide friend from Chillicothe had expressed frustration at how much she didn't know. 

"The more of this New World Sentinel lore I try to collect, the more I realize how much has been lost," she'd commented in her last conference call with UNCLE.

"Perhaps we should be talking to our European contacts," Napoleon suggested. "Whatever 'sacred places' we may have lost knowledge of here in the US, there must be something equivalent in Europe that is still known."

Illya agreed and Napoleon added that note to his nightly report. While Napoleon called that report in to UNCLE headquarters, Illya cleaned up the burger wrappers and prepared for their usual evening 'nesting'. In the four years they'd been working together as a Sentinel-Guide pair for UNCLE, they'd developed their own routines for missions. They didn't always get to sleep in a bed when out in the field, but when they did, and one of them was not required to be on watch, they made sure to spend some time together, just relaxing and basking in each others' presence. It strengthened and renewed their bond, kept the connection between them clear and sharp, and refilled often badly drained energy reserves. An hour or two of nesting at the outset of a mission would keep them on their feet and able to endure much for many days.

"Join me in the shower?" Illya asked as Napoleon signed off.

"You know it," Napoleon answered with relish.

By now, they knew each other's scars by heart, and by touch. Illya didn't see Napoleon's various scars as imperfections or flaws; on the contrary, he saw them as an integral part of the man he loved. He sought them out on his lover's body as Illya drew Napoleon into his arms under the shower spray. His fingers paused over every rough patch or irregularity, communicating with kisses and touches,  _ by these marks I know you; by these travails have you become the one I love. _

Napoleon did the same with him, turning in Illya's arms to meet his lips in a kiss, hands moving over Illya's body to seek their own familiar flaws. This mutual inspection and recognition was always the first part of their routine, and might on some occasions be followed by a mutual pleasuring, but on others, as tonight, merely concluded with a thorough washing up, with their own unscented soap.

Out of the shower they dried each other, then retired to the bed where they could let their bodies and minds relax, each immersing themselves in the other. For Illya this was the time he could let his senses extend to their fullest, all focused on his Guide. For Napoleon this was when he could let down his guard and let Illya in, to fill him with the presence he knew and trusted, to shield him from all others.

Illya loved the feeling of Napoleon's body relaxing in his arms, knowing that his Guide was never so relaxed anywhere else. Napoleon gathered his Sentinel's hands together to lift them to his lips, then held them over his heart.

"I know you want to protect me from these dreams," Napoleon said. "And you think you can't, but you do, you know."

"How is that?" Illya asked skeptically. He hated hearing Napoleon's terrified cry in the middle of the night, knowing that it was no enemy he could fight that caused it.

"The dreams themselves can't harm me, you know," Napoleon reminded him. "And even when something awful is happening in the dream, I know you're there beside me, and I'm safe."

"But there's something, or someone, that isn't safe," Illya said, frowning.  _ "They _ know what it is." He glanced, as he spoke to the foot of the bed where Napoleon's spirit guide otter could be seen, and just beyond it, where Illya's falcon perched on top of the tv.

"And they'll help us find it," Napoleon said. "Tomorrow, when we get to Mount Tam, we'll let them lead the way."

Glancing up from where his lover lay in his arms, Illya met the steely gaze of his falcon, and knew it to be true.


	2. Act I: "…not associated with the Boy Scouts."

Their hotel was only two blocks from the County Courthouse, so the commotion in front of it was evident as soon as Napoleon and Illya stepped out the front entrance. Napoleon counted four out of five of the sheriff's cruisers, both San Rafael city police cars and a couple of State Troopers, filling the courthouse parking lot and the street in front. Blue, green and khaki uniformed men milled around their cars and called back and forth on their radios. Once they reached the sheriff's office, it was some minutes before they managed to get Sheriff Richardson's attention.

"Sorry to preempt your mission, gentlemen," he said, honestly apologetic. "But we got a missing kid out there and naturally…"

"Of course," Napoleon replied hastily, seeing Illya nodding out of the corner of his eye. "Is there any way we can help? Any resources of UNCLE's you could use?"

"Well, you might as well join the search parties," Richardson said. "The kid wandered away from a campground on Mount Tam last night. Dot's giving a briefing to a couple of state troopers over there; why don't you go and join them."

"His name is Henry Forester," Napoleon could hear the sheriff's wife addressing the troopers out in the lobby and hastened to join them. "He's 12 years old, five foot 1 with dark brown hair and brown eyes. He would have been wearing pajamas when he left the camp but Mr Artos reports that he took some clothes with him, probably jeans, a t-shirt and sneakers. Mr Artos also reports that Henry might have had a quarrel with one of the older boys, as a reason why he might have left."

"Do we know where he was going?" one of the troopers asked.

"We don't," Mrs Richardson replied. "He may simply have wanted to go home, but got lost making his way down the mountain during the night."

"Who's Mr Artos?" Napoleon asked, raising his hand.

"Oh, Mr Solo," Dot said with a smile. "I guess everybody around here knows him. He's led a sort of scouting group for boys for years. He takes them out camping on Mount Tam all the time. I don't think he's ever had anyone go missing like this before."

"Maybe that's because we didn't have a gang of Black Panther criminals from Oakland hiding out there before," another one of the troopers opined.

"Black Panthers?" Illya asked, glancing at Napoleon.

"I'll bet he's talking about those fugitives Richardson mentioned yesterday," Napoleon said. "There's been a lot going on with the Black Panther Party in Oakland lately; they've even turned up in our UNCLE briefings."

"Ah, yes," Illya nodded. "So these fugitives are negros?"

"Could be," Napoleon shrugged. "Or the locals are just seeing 'boogeymen' in the woods. I'm more curious about whether Pendragon's attacks and this missing boy are connected."

Illya nodded his concurrence, but Napoleon knew, even without his empathic abilities, that they were the only ones here thinking about the Pendragon attacks. UNCLE wouldn't begrudge them a day spent looking for a lost boy, and they'd still be up on the mountain, with Illya's senses seeking any trace of the lost child  _ or _ Pendragon's operation. 

They caught a lift up with the state troopers and got a little background on the Black Panther business. They were indeed seeking a fugitive thought to have been involved in a bank robbery in Oakland, a couple of weeks ago, in which a bank guard had been shot. The Black Panthers had been implicated in the robbery, and the fugitive had reportedly been spotted in Mill Valley, a little hamlet near the foot of Mount Tam, a few days after the robbery.

"I get the impression you don't often see many black folks in Marin County," Napoleon noted when the trooper mentioned the sighting in Mill Valley.

"You're right about that," replied the trooper. "Now Mexicans, we see a lot of those. Farm workers mostly. But not negros, no."

There was no point suggesting to the troopers that any black man spotted in these parts was likely to be taken for a criminal. These men would make the same assumption themselves—Napoleon could sense it from them as plain as day. Illya understood American racism from the perspective of newscasts and UNCLE briefings, but the day-to-day banality of it was probably new to him, as his raised eyebrow glance suggested.

Leaving town, they drove up into foothills forested with the same stately sequoia trees which made the nearby Muir Woods so famous. Here and there they also passed vineyards, country clubs and private estates, but as they climbed higher, the land around them was more and more parkland and wildlife preserves. The drove past two lakes, sparkling crystal blue in the sun, then climbed higher still, up narrow switch back roads lined on both sides with sentinel sequoias.

The two troopers in the front paid little attention to the passing scenery, but were more focused on the radio chatter. Someone was insisting that they call for a K-9 unit, but others voices pointed out that their sheriff, with his Sentinel senses, would do better than any dogs, once he actually got to the site. Unfortunately, he was still tied up back in town.

"Hey, we got a Sentinel here in our car," the trooper sitting in the front passenger seat pointed out. "And we're almost at the trailhead."

"Send him up to the campsite as soon as you get there, will you?" the dispatcher said. "The dad is here breathing down my neck to get his kid found."

So much for taking our own approach, Napoleon thought ruefully. Well, there were some cases where it was better to just go with the flow. He could hardly fault the parents for being anxious.

They pulled into a gravel parking lot a few minutes later, and were immediately ushered up the trail, in the company of the two troopers who'd driven them and one of the sheriff's men, the Deputy Kendall, who'd been mentioned as an expert on the area.

"What can you tell us about this Mr Artos and his organization?" Illya asked, once introductions had been made and UNCLE's presence explained.

"He's been established here in San Rafael for a while," Kendall answered. "He's got a nice big place on the edge of town, set up some kind of charitable foundation a while back, and runs this boys' camping and survival skills group in his spare time."

"And he's not associated with the Boy Scouts in any way?" Napoleon asked.

"Not… really," the deputy said. "Artos is a bit of an eccentric in some ways. He thinks the Boy and Girl Scouts are part of some sort of worldwide conspiracy… Don't ask me to explain it, but every parent who's let him take their kids camping has met him personally. He's got some odd ideas, but he's great with the kids."

Napoleon shrugged, not willing to waste his breath on words while they were climbing a fairly steep section of trail. He could feel his Sentinel relaxing in the natural surroundings, however. Here he could stretch his senses out, getting a read on the natural environment, the birds and other creatures invisible to the untrained eye and ear, but living their lives all around them. He caught the first sounds and scents of the campsite as they approached before anyone else, but it became clearly visible a moment later when they topped a rise.

The open meadow below was dotted with tents, with a fire pit at the center and a large RV with a trailer hitched to it at the periphery. The campers could be seen busying themselves with various tasks, and Napoleon picked out the one adult easily—a balding man wearing camo trousers and a jacket over a t-shirt, standing by the trailer where he was handing a bucket to a pair of boys. The group of law enforcement men and UNCLE agents skirted the encampment, but the sight of uniformed adults still drew nearly every eye by the time they reached the camp leader.

"Howdy Gabe," he called out to Deputy Kendall as they approached.

"Leroy," Kendall replied with a nod. "These fellows are here to start the search from this end. Troopers Greyson and Archer I think you know…" The two troopers each shook the man's hand.

"And these gentlemen?" Artos asked. Leroy Artos was a tall, imposing man, who didn't mind using his height to intimidate. That much Napoleon read from him clearly, along with his immediate distrust of authority figures he didn't know. There was something else, however—something occluded even from Napoleon's astute empathy that left him unsettled.

"Napoleon Solo," Napoleon stepped forward to offer his hand, forcing Artos to take his or look rude. "Agent of the U.N.C.L.E, on loan to the local authorities while they're looking for your boy."

The moment Napoleon mentioned UNCLE, Artos dropped his hand like a hot potato. Napoleon ignored it.

"And this is my partner, Agent Illya Kuryakin," he carried on cordially. Illya offered his hand as Napoleon had done and won a perfunctory shake from the camp leader.

"What's UNCLE doing here?" he asked Kendall, the disapproval in his voice scarcely veiled.

"We happened to be conferring with the local sheriff on another, unrelated matter when we heard about your missing boy," Napoleon stepped in before Kendal could give away too much.

"Our concerns were not so urgent," Illya put in. "The welfare of this young man is."

"Of course it is," Artos snapped. "But don't think you're going to recruit him for any of your internationalist scouting groups. My boys have all been trained to be master of their own destinies."

"A laudable goal," Illya said. "But can you tell us what might have led young mister Forester to seek his destiny on his own last night?"

"Or where he might have been headed?" Kendall put in.

"I have no idea where he thought he was going," Artos said. "You're a Sentinel; you're supposed to find out." He glowered at Illya.

"We were told that he'd had some sort of dispute with another boy?" Napoleon prompted. At this, Artos seemed genuinely perplexed.

"Frankie's a good kid," he said. "He's been with me as a senior for a couple of years now, and he's never had any trouble with any of the younger boys until Henry, but the two of them seemed to rub each other the wrong way from the start. I made sure to put them in different Units, but I guess it wasn't enough."

"I'd like to have a word with Frankie, if that's possible," Napoleon said. Artos frowned, but Kendall lent his support.

"He's a Guide, Leroy," the deputy said. "Maybe he can figure out what got between them."

"Maybe," Artos conceded, then called out to one of the boys he'd just given the bucket to. "Joe, can you show these gentlemen to where Frankie is working?"

"I'll go with him," Deputy Kendall said. "If you could show Sentinel Kuryakin where Henry's tent is?"

Napoleon noted the direction Artos and Illya were headed, so he'd be able to meet up with his partner when he was done with Frankie. As he crossed the campground, he saw that the boys were gathered into various groups with an older boy in each one, showing the younger ones skills such as knot tying, fire building or setting up a tent. Frankie was leading his group in studying different animal tracks.

"Hey, Frankie!" Kendall called out as they approached. "Mind if we have a word with you for a minute?"

Frankie, a lanky youth with curly brown hair, looked up from the chart he was showing his charges, then stood.

"Hey Deputy Kendall," he said, then turned to the group. "You guys quiz each other for  a few minutes. I'll be right back." He stepped over to join Napoleon and Kendall, and the three of them walked away from the group to the shade of a nearby oak tree.

"Frankie, this is Guide Napoleon Solo, on loan from the U.N.C.L.E. to help us find Henry," Kendall introduced them. "He'd like to ask you a few questions."

Frankie shrugged, then turned to shake Napoleon's hand. He felt nothing devious or underhanded from the lad, but rather a profound sense of dedication and loyalty to Mr Artos, that was almost proprietary.

"I swear, I don't know what made Henry take off like that," he began. "I didn't say nothing to him to make him run, if that's what you want to know."

There was the lie, first thing, Napoleon sighed inwardly. He had definitely said something to Henry, possibly threatened him, but why?

"A lot of people, including Mr Artos, said you two had some kind of problem with each other, from the beginning," Napoleon offered. "Can you tell me what that was about?"

"I dunno," Frankie said, shrugging his shoulders again. Once again Napoleon felt a flare of proprietary feeling towards Mr Artos, and a sense that his relationship with the leader had been threatened. "It's just… I can't stand kids who are always sucking up to the teacher… or whoever. You gotta work hard to be in the Seniors' Circle, like me, but Henry was always trying to be like a teacher's pet, always wanting to be Mr Artos' helper instead of letting other kids have a chance… It just bugs me, so I guess I might have told him to tone it down a little, and maybe he took it the wrong way…"

Jealousy, there it was, plain as the nose on his face. Napoleon could tell from Kendall's frown as he listened that he had come to the same conclusion, even without Guide senses. What only Napoleon had drawn from Frankie's non-confession was that his jealousy was based on more than just hero-worship, but something more profound. Frankie was a nascent Guide, and his attachment to Artos was something that might frequently develop between a young, nascent Guide and a mature Sentinel. But Artos wasn't a Sentinel, of that Napoleon was sure.

Normally, a Sentinel who finds him or herself the object of such an attachment would take the young Guide aside, often with their parents, and explain the reason for their feelings. More often than not the young person would have had no idea that they were a Guide, and once enrolled in some kind of Guide counselling or training program, would learn how to recognize and handle their Guide instincts. Artos probably had no idea he was the reason for Frankie and Henry's rivalry, and Frankie's parents probably had no idea their son was a Guide.

"Okay, I guess that's all the questions I have," Napoleon finished. "Thanks for your help."

At a nod from Kendall, Frankie trotted back to his charges, and he and Napoleon started back across the campground to where Illya had been headed.

"You suppose Frankie did threaten him?" Kendall said as they walked.

"I'm sure of it," Napoleon replied, "just as I am sure that young Frankie is a Guide, who seems to have formed a… slightly inexplicable attachment to Mr Artos. I can't explain why, as Artos is no Sentinel, but someone needs to talk to Frankie's parents about Guide training for him, and he probably needs to leave Artos' group."

"I'll let Nathan know," Kendall said. "He and his wife are the ones that have the talk with parents when kids turn up with Sentinel or Guide traits. Usually it's a school teacher that spots 'em."

"Teachers are trained, in most states, to recognise the signs," Napoleon said. "So are most Scoutmasters, in both the Boy and Girl Scouts. Mr Artos has clearly never had that training."

"I take your point," Kendall said. "And I'll mention it to the sheriff. I dunno what we can change, but we'll be better prepared, anyhow."

They spotted Illya easily enough and joined him outside Henry's tent a few moments later. He had one of the boy's socks in his hand.

"What have you found, partner?" Napoleon asked.

"Well, he didn't take his sleeping bag, for one," Illya replied. "Which suggests that he expected to be home by tonight. I'll be able to track him easily enough, in any case." He tossed the sock back into the tent; having gotten the scent once, he would remember it flawlessly. "What about young Frankie?"

"Young Frankie is a pre-emergent Guide," Napoleon said, "who seems to have formed the kind of attachment to Mr Artos that one occasionally sees between young Guids and adult Sentinels. It looks like he took young Henry to be a rival, possibly because he is also a Guide, or maybe he really is a bit of a teacher's pet. In any case, words were said last night that probably involved some kind of physical threat and Henry took off as a matter of self preservation. I just can't figure why Frankie would have formed such an attachment to a man who isn't a Sentinel."

"Ah," said Illya, "but he is, in a way. Leroy Artos is what we used to call in Russia, a 'bent' Sentinel. There was a small division in KGB, whose only mission was to find such persons and either turn them into the most depraved and expendable assassins, or to exterminate them. If it was the former, we would force them to endure a series of 'treatments' that would force their Sentinel gifts to surface as well as conditioning them to be little more than killer robots. It was not uncommon that these 'treatments' would result in creatures so broken that they had to be 'put down'."

"Good God!" exclaimed Kendall. Napoleon just grimaced. He already knew the kinds of backwards and destructive training Soviet Sentinels were subject to.

"So what is it you sensed about Artos that makes him one of these, 'bent' Sentinels?" Napoleon said.

"Normal Sentinels have a sort of moral core," Illya explained, "to protect the tribe, above all else. If, for whatever reason, that moral core is missing, or non-functional, in a person with potential Sentinel gifts, those gifts tend not to emerge."

"And your saying that Leroy Artos is one of those… people who would be a Sentinel but is lacking this 'moral core'?" Kendall asked.

"I'm nearly sure of it," Illya replied. "We were trained to detect such people, in KGB, and to report them to that special division. It took me a few minutes to recognize it in Artos, but I'm quite sure of it now, and young Frankie's attachment is further proof."

"That… doesn't sound like the kind of person who should be leading kids, does it?" Kendall asked, troubled.

"No," Illya responded. "I would strongly advise against it."

"Dammit all to hell, what am I going to tell the sheriff?" said the distressed deputy.

"This is Sentinel business," Napoleon said. "We'll take care of it, and we'll make sure the situation is resolved before we leave. You can count on it."

"We protect the tribe," Illya said, "especially the young."

Kendall was visibly relieved not to be responsible for this thorny issue, and agreed to leave Napoleon and Illya on their own to set out after the missing boy's scent trail while he went to organize the other searchers. Illy easily followed Henry's course at first, as it skirted the edge of the woods away from the campground, but when it approached the main hiking trail it veered into the woods, then got confused with the miriad scents of the various passing hikers.

"Guide," Illya called, coming to a halt in the midst of a stand of ferns.

"Time to adjust your levels, Sentinel," Napoleon said, coming to stand close beside his partner, laying a hand on his shoulder. "Tone down the hearing, the touch, they'll just distract you here. Dial your scent all the way up, and let it seek the one and only person you're following. That's the only scent that matters. Let your sight focus in on where he walked. If he was avoiding the trail he'll leave all kids of broken branches and trampled ground. Let your eyes seek those things alone. Focus on your goal; let me cover everything else."

Illya reached up to briefly squeeze Napoleon's hand where it lay on his shoulder, drawing a deep, centering breath. They stood in utter silence for a long moment, then Illya raised his head, directing them towards the downhill slope.

"He crossed the trail here," he said, and started forward once more. Once clear of the hiking trail, the marks of young Henry's passing became quite clear once again. 

"He must have been trying to make his way straight down the mountain," Napoleon commented, glancing down the steep slope where the scuffs and broken fern fronds were impossible to miss. "Damn… I hope he didn't fall down some cliff in the dark."

Illya paused, looking out over the mountainside. "There are a number of steep slopes on this side of the mountain," he said, "But no sheer drops, I think. He could possibly have fallen and injured himself or fallen unconscious somewhere hard to find. His scent should still lead me to him, in that case."

Napoleon nodded, touching his Sentinel briefly as they got going again. They fell into a familiar concentrated silence as they progressed, Illya keeping his senses focused on the trail they were following, Napoleon watching their footing on the uneven ground, eyes and ears open to the surroundings. It was slow going and before they knew it the day had all but passed, their shadows growing as long as those of the surrounding sequoias, and the sun was lowering over the horizon to the west.

A chill breeze swept through the trees as the sun slipped behind the hills and Napoleon frowned. "Hope it doesn't get too cold tonight," he murmured.

"We're not so far behind now," Illya said. "We'll find him before too long."

"Here's hoping," Napoleon said, 'knocking wood' on a passing sequoia for good measure. He was encouraged by Illya's certainty. It meant that his Sentinel was still following a clear scent trail, and able to discern enough that he could tell how old it was. Napoleon was having a rather harder time keeping track of their surroundings in the encroaching dusk. He had no idea precisely where they were, and his own well trained, but altogether mundane senses told him nothing of what might be coming up ahead.

He was mainly focusing on not losing track of Illya in the shadowy forest when he felt something grab at him from out of the dark, and before he could even give warning he was caught up in a powerful grip, with the unmistakable cold press of a knife at his throat.

"Freeze, G-man!" the sharp command was uttered into his ear. 

He complied with professional courtesy, muttering, "Not a G-man," as he raised his hands. He heard nothing from Illya and did not expect to. Still, his captor did.

"Whoever you are," he called out into the shadows. "I've got a knife to your partner's throat."

There was a long moment of silence, and then Illya all but materialized out of the shadows in front of Napoleon.

"That's. My. Guide." The tone of the words was flat, devoid of any inflection, but the threat in them was chillingly palpable.

"He's another Sentinel, James," came a woman's voice from behind him. "They're here looking for the kid, not for us."

The knife came away from Napoleon's throat then, much to his relief, and another figure stepped out of the shadows.


	3. Act II: "... the defiler posing as a pillar of the community."

The man was dark skinned, which was not readily discernible in the half light, but the profile of his 'afro' hairstyle confirmed what the light did not. He was tall as well, even taller than Napoleon, but there was nothing threatening about him… now that he'd removed the knife from Napoleon's throat. In fact, he seemed almost deferential to him, but that would be because he was a Sentinel as well.

"I beg your pardon, Sentinel," he said, formal, but sincere.

"Pardon given," Illya replied with equal decorum. "I can see you were protecting your own."

It took Napoleon a moment to realize what Illya meant, but then he glanced at the woman who had just stepped up to stand beside the stranger Sentinel, and Napoleon figured it out. She was his Guide.

Could these be the 'fugitives' they'd been hearing about? Napoleon was not so naive as to be surprised that a Sentinel—particularly a black one—had come to be a fugitive from the law, but he was curious to know the story.

"He is protecting more than you know," the woman said. "If your interest is in the good of all people, you will not give us away."

Illya frowned, and Napoleon could feel the conflict between his recently riled Sentinel instincts and his duty to the law as an UNCLE agent. It was situations like this that Guides needed to step in.

"Perhaps introductions are in order," Napoleon suggested. "I am Napoleon Solo, agent of the U.N.C.L.E., and this is my Sentinel, Illya Kuryakin, and partner in UNCLE."

"I am Guide Ayisha Washington," the woman replied. "And this is my Sentinel, James Deangelo. We came here from Oakland after I had a dream, to come and protect the Holy Place."

"The dream sent you here?" Napoleon asked. The only answer she gave at first was a look of astonishment.

"You mean… you know what I'm talking about?" she stammered. "You know about the dream?"

"I  _ had _ the dream, Miss Washington, more times than I can count, along with hundreds of other Guides all over the country," Napoleon answered. "It told me to 'stop the defiler', but I had no idea where or what was being defiled."

"The Holy Place that lies at the top of this mountain," James spoke up at last. "Only Sentinels can find it."

"I was beginning to suspect as much," Illya said. "Just as I suspect that the defiler is none other than our Mr Artos."

James nodded solemnly. "I can confirm your suspicions," he said. "For we have a witness."

 

There was no doubt in Napoleon's mind that this witness would prove to be young Henry. A glance exchanged with Illya as they followed the Sentinel and his Guide back to their camp confirmed that Illya thought the same. It was full dark when James signalled them to stop, then made a whistling sound that Napoleon assumed was some sort of bird cry. 

From within what appeared to be a large thicket just ahead, a light now shone, revealing an opening which had been hidden by a tarp. Ayisha stepped forward to crouch at the low doorway.

"We have a couple of visitors," she said. "Tam, 'Mundo, we need you to come out and start your watch early."

From within the depths of the shelter two young people emerged—Napoleon guessed them to be just past their teens—pushing past Ayisha to stand before their Sentinel. Or perhaps, Napoleon mused, it would be more accurate to say, their Alpha, for they were a Sentinel and Guide pair too.

"Sentinel Kuryakin, Guide Solo," James introduced. "This is Sentinel Tam Kwan and his Guide, 'Mundo Chavez. They came with us from Oakland."

"Sentinel Kuryakin," the young Sentinel asked. "Do you happen to know if any other searchers are looking in this area?"

"Not as far as I know," Illya replied, "But if the Sheriff joins the search he'll be here before long. Henry left a fairly obvious trail, to any Sentinel."

"The Sheriff is a Sentinel?" 'Mundo asked.

"He is, and we've met him," Napoleon confirmed. "If you run across him, tell him we're with you."

James seemed somewhat unhappy about this possibility, but said nothing beyond wishing Tam and 'Mundo 'good hunting' and gesturing Illya and Napoleon to follow him inside. The ceiling was low, but the brush and tarp shelter they now found themselves in was considerably more spacious that Napoleon would have suspected. It was built against one wall of a gully, with the outer walls made of layers of tarps and branches so that none of the light from the string of tiny bulbs strung across the ceiling and wired into a car battery, escaped. From the outside, he figured, it was probably just as invisible during the day as it was at night.

Old carpets covered the ground where they were invited to sit, along with two other young women who'd been lounging on the rolled up sleeping bags against the back wall, playing cards with a boy who looked to be around 12 or 13 years old.

"Sentinel Esperanza Jimenez, and Sentinel, Lwazi Kenya," James introduced the two—a Latina around the same age as the pair who'd gone out to keep watch and a black teenager wearing a traditional African head cloth and bright colored tunic over her  wiry frame.

"How long have you been here?" Napoleon asked, glancing around at the very lived-in looking space.

"Since the dreams started," Ayisha answered. "Around the beginning of March."

"Unfortunately," James added, "it was also around that time that Ayisha's brother was implicated in an Oakland bank robbery. One of the guards was shot and a witness claims to have seen him driving the getaway car."

"Which is such bullshit, 'cause Royal cain't even drive," Lwazi said angrily. "They named him 'cause they think he was with the Panthers, like his sister."

"Now the DA is saying that they gonna prove that the whole robbery was planned by the Black Panthers," Esperanza continued. "They sayin' that's why James and Ayisha gone away, so the police looking for all of us now."

"I… appreciate your situation," Napoleon said after a moment. "But you surely realize that being found harboring a missing boy is not going to make your situation any better."

"You think I don't know that?" James said, coming to sit heavily on the carpet across from the two UNCLE men. "But what was I supposed to do? Leave him cold and alone in the woods all night? Or worse, let him fall back into the hands of the defiler posing as a pillar of the community, camped outside our Holy place?"

"Make no mistake," Illya said. "I'd have done no different, and we came here for the same reasons you did, to stop the defiler."

"Would it be possible for us to hear this young man's testimony for ourselves?" Napoleon asked.

"Whatta you say, Mr Henry?" Esperanza called back to the young man still sitting at the back. "You wanna talk to these gringos?"

"Ayisha said Guides can tell you're saying the truth, if you are," Henry said. "According to her, I ain't lying."

"We know you have no reason to lie," Illya said. "And for that reason, your account of what you saw could be quite important. We came all the way here from New York because we believe that something bad is happening here—something we need to stop. Anything you know about it could help."

Henry stood and came forward, eventually sitting between Esperanza and Lwazi where they scooted aside to make a space for him. "You came here all the way from New York?" he asked.

Napoleon chuckled. "Well, UNCLE, the agency Illya and I work for, sends us on missions all over the world. For us, this is relatively close to home."

"For you, maybe," Illya quipped.

"You a Rooskie, Sentinel Kuryakin?" Esperanza asked.

"I am a citizen of the Soviet Socialist Republic of Russia," Illya said, "but UNCLE is an international organization, with agents from nearly every country."

"My dad says Russian people are just the same as us," Henry offered, "only their government isn't so nice."

"Out of the mouths of babes…" Napoleon said with a smirk. Illya rolled his eyes.

"So your bosses at UNCLE deem this situation here worth sending a pair of their agents?" James asked.

"One of their top pairs, in fact," Napoleon replied. "There are more than a few Sentinel Guide pairs working as UNCLE agents, and the administration has always taken Sentinel concerns seriously. A situation so significant as to raise dreams in nearly every Guide in North America certainly merited a mission."

Young Henry's eyes widened as he came to see how seriously all the Sentinels and Guides around him regarded the situation. He cleared his throat and looked down at his shoes before speaking. "I dunno what I saw exactly. It was late at night and I really had to pee—that's why I was up. Anyway, I kinda got lost finding the latrines and when I saw a light, I thought it was them. Pretty soon I could see it wasn't the latrines. It was Mr Artos' camper, but he didn't usually leave a light on there, so I thought there was maybe some trouble." He tapered off here to push his hair out of his eyes.

"I never seen him go into that trailer before, but what I saw… It looked like the roof was open in the back and there was some kind of machine coming out the top… and maybe it looked like… I dunno, some kind of gun or weapon or something. I mean, it wasn't like any kind of real gun I know about, more like… like some kinda sci fi laser gun… but that's nuts… isn't it?"

"In fact, it is not." Illya said, which only made Henry's expression grow more alarmed.

"Well, anyhow, I just had a gut feeling I shouldn't be seeing any of it," he continued. "So I found the latrines and a did my stuff, and then when I came out, there was Frankie."

"Ah," said Napoleon. "We talked to Frankie, but he omitted to mention this."

"I swear, it was him," Henry said, distressed. Lwazi laid a hand on his shoulder. "We know," she said.

"We do not doubt you, Henry," Napoleon clarified. "Very little of what Frankie said to me was true, and much was left out. Please continue."

"Well he pretty much told me that I was dead if I said a word to anyone about what I saw," Henry replied. "That's when I decided to take off."

"So" said Napoleon after a pause."Mr Artos is our Pendragon."

"The evidence does seem conclusive," Illya concurred.

"Who or what is Pendragon?" James inquired.

"It is the name used by the person or party who has been threatening to bring down planes flying in the vicinity of the San Francisco International Airport with a laser weapon of some sort," Illya answered. "Discovering the identity of this 'Pendragon' and thwarting his plans is the main thrust of our mission here for UNCLE."

"A real laser gun?" Henry said, wide eyed."That's what I saw?"

"Very likely," Napoleon said. "And I'll wager that if we found out all the dates of Artos' previous camping trips, we'd find them concurrent with all the previous attacks."

"What attacks?" Ayisha asked. "There wasn't anything about that in the news."

"Authorities have discounting them as harmless pranks," Illya said. "So as not to alarm the public, and so far, all he's done is tag the cockpits with a low intensity beam."

"He's surrounded himself with hostages," Ayish said, quiet anger in her voice. "We could catch him in the act tonight, but it would put the rest of the boys at a terrible risk."

"I agree," Napoleon said and his Sentinel nodded. "We need to report all of this to headquarters. Do you happen to know if you get any radio signals down here?"

"It's how we keep up with the news," James said, pointing at a transistor radio in the corner. "Why?"

Napoleon drew his communicator pen from his jacket pocket and extended the antenna by way of an answer. Henry's eyes bugged out even further when a voice emanated from the device in response to Napoleon's call for an open channel.

"What have you to report, Agent Solo?" Mr Waverly inquired from New York, where it was later in the evening than he usually stayed at the office. Something was up.

"We're fairly sure that we have the identity of Pendragon, sir, to start with," Napoleon reported. "His name is Leroy Artos and he is currently posing as a youth mentor in San Rafael California. Furthermore, he seems to be preparing to run another test tonight."

"It's no test he's preparing for tonight, Agent Solo." Waverly's voice was deadly serious. "We received his ultimatum early this morning: either the money is delivered by midnight tonight or a plane goes down."

"Holy shit!" Esperanza exclaimed, then clapped her hands over her mouth when Lwazi glared at her.

"It is essential that you put a stop to this man's schemes tonight, before midnight," Waverly ordered. Illya exchanged glances with Napoleon, then took the communicator.

"Understood sir," Illya said into the microphone, "but I must inform you that he is operating under the cover of a boys' camping trip, and that there are currently some forty or so young boys sleeping in tents all around the trailer where Artos has his laser set up."

"That is… unfortunate," Waverly replied."I presume you are in touch with the local authorities?"

"We are, sir," Napoleon answered.

"Use all the resources you have to hand, Agents," Waverly finished, "but Pendragon must be stopped, with as little collateral damage as you can manage. Waverly out."

"Man, they don't cut you much slack, do they?" said Esperanza.

"There is very little slack to be cut here, Sentinel Jimenez," James replied seriously. "The defiler must be stopped, and the innocent must be protected. We will help you in any way we can."

"Your help could be instrumental, Sentinel Deangelo," Napoleon said. "If you and your people could bring the campers out, as quietly as possible, before we move in on Artos…"

Ayisha nodded. "Yes, that would be our best chance, and the best use of our talents," she said.

"Good," Napoleon said, glancing over at Illya to see what he would suggest as far as their strategy, when another whistling bird cry was heard from outside the shelter.

"That's Tam!" Lwazi said.

"It's the signal for intruders," said Ayisha.

"I expect that will be the sheriff," said Illya. "Shall we go meet him?"

 

No one but a Sentinel would have heard him, but Illya did and knew that Sheriff Nathan Richardson would be aware of them as well. They walked a few yards up the hill away from the shelter, James and Ayesha following in their wake, and waited.

"He's here without his Guide," Illya murmured to Napoleon, who nodded, unsurprised.

"He's old fashioned," he replied. "Thinks it's too dangerous for her out in the field. She probably isn't far, though, possibly waiting in a car at the trailhead."

When he had approached close enough that even Napoleon sensed him, Illya called out a greeting. "Well met, Sentinel Richardson."

"Sentinel Kuryakin, Guide Solo," Richardson replied, stepping out from the shadows. "I take it you have the boy here?"

"Young Henry is not far, and in good hands," Napoleon answered.

"Whose hands?" came the immediate question. Illya saw Napoleon draw a breath for a full and diplomatic answer, but he was cut off.

"Ours," said James, stepping forward with his Guide at his side.

Richardson turned his look of outrage on Illya."You left the boy in the hands of a gang of fugitive criminals?"

"We are neither fugitives nor criminals, Sentinel Richardson," James said with stiff formality.

"Are you not Nakuru Washington?" Richardson demanded. Ayisha answered.

"Nakuru is my brother," she said."And I have no idea where he is. This is my Sentinel, James Deangelo, and we are here on Sentinel business, just as these two gentlemen are."

"Surely you did not miss that this man is a Sentinel," Napoleon slipped in with steely cordiality. "The others keeping an eye on Henry are also Sentinels and a Guide. I don't think he could be in safer hands, do you?"

Richardson frowned, glancing between the two UNCLE men and James and Ayisha. "If they've been camping here all this time, that's a violation of State Park regulations."

"It is true, we have broken that regulation," James said."And whatever fine may be levied against us, we will pay it. I promise you as well that once we are gone, you will find no sign that we were ever here. We did not even light a fire."

Illya could attest to that. From what he'd been able to make out in the shelter, they'd all been subsisting on peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, Slim Jims and pretzel sticks the whole time.

"Sentinel Richardson," Napoleon stepped in once more."We've met with the boy, taken his testimony and seen to it that he's safe and protected. Unfortunately, he's not just a runaway, but a material witness in the case that we came here to investigate."

"What… that laser business?" Richardson was incredulous.

"Were you able to speak to your Deputy, Mr Kendall, before you set off on the boy's scent trail?" Illya asked.

"Yes…" Richardson answered. "Are you talking about your theory that Leroy Artos is some kind of… stunted Sentinel, who shouldn't be around kids? I can't say that I'd put much store in it.The man is a pillar of the community."

"What better a disguise for a man bent on such mayhem?" Illya pointed out. "And young Henry's statement to us, before we said anything about our mission or the laser attacks, included descriptions of Artos setting up what was unmistakably a laser weapon. He has it hidden in his trailer."

"And that's why he ran?" Richardson said, clearly finding all this difficult to digest.

"He ran because another boy threatened to kill him if he told," Napoleon said.

"That would be Frankie Albertson?" Richardson said.

"It would," Napoleon answered."Did you get a chance to speak with him?"

"I did," Richardson answered, "and so did Dot. She says you're right about his being a naiscent Guide."

"Sentinel Richardson," Ayisha spoke up now. "I invite you to come to our camp and speak to the boy yourself. There is more we must discuss all together, for the situation is more urgent than you know."

Once again the Sheriff looked uneasily between the two pairs of Sentinels and Guides. Illya didn't need Napoleon to tell him that the man was reluctant to be in such close proximity to so many black people, though his Sentinel instincts had to be telling him that they were safe. He finally bade them to lead the way and followed, and was as surprised as the UNCLE men had been when the shelter was revealed.


	4. Act III:  "Unless you can think of a better plan?"

The reaction of the other Sentinels and Guides inside the shelter ranged from momentarily alarmed to suspicious, but Henry recognized him right away.

"Sheriff Richardson!" he cried, running up to greet him. "It's a good thing you're here! We have to stop Mr Artos!"

"I heard about the ultimatum," the sheriff said as he settled on the floor with the others. "We've still got men out combing the woods for this young man, but they knew they're to keep an eye out for the Pendragon operation."

"Then their time is doubly wasted," Ayisha declared. "We have the boy and we know where Pendragon is, hiding in plain sight."

Richardson shook his head."I'm still having a hard time believing that Artos is a criminal extortionist," he said."I've known him for years. He organizes an annual fundraiser for our department.He's even on the County Arts Commission."

"Thus do rich white men seek to disguise the evil in their hearts," said James."So that their evil grows like a cancer while all around them are blind to it all."

"That a quote from that Malcolm X fellow?" Richardson retorted. James shrugged.

"It's a quote from me," James said. "Though it's possible he said something similar."

"It's true, Sheriff," Henry piped up now. "All the kids think Mr Artos is a great guy; I thought so too, but I know what I saw last night. I don't know what a laser gun looks like, but why would he take that big piece of equipment on a camping trip, and then never take it out in the daytime when we were all awake?"

"Sentinel Richardson," Napoleon offered, "there are two other Guides as well as myself here, who can attest to this young man's honesty, and if your own Guide were here, she would say the same. Every minute you delay action against this villain puts a plane full of innocent people at greater risk."

Richardson shook his head. "Dot always said there was something a little 'off' about Artos, but I couldn't see any reason for it."

All three Guides in the room frowned slightly, and Illya could practically feel them each refraining from admonishing Richardson for ignoring his own Guide. It was Illya who finally broke the silence.

"Sentinel Deangelo and his pride have offered to go in and quietly evacuate the campers under cover of darkness," he said. "Once they are out of harm's way, your men can move in on Artos."

"Now wait a minute," the sheriff objected. "Even if Artos is Pendragon, how am I going to explain to the parents  that I had a gang of negros come roust their boys out of their tents in the dead of night?"

"Well you might begin by explaining that you were very fortunate to have the assistance of a  _ Pride  _ of  _ Sentinels and Guides _ ," Napoleon said pointedly.

Even Illya could see the profound discomfort practically radiating from the sheriff, and the disapproval of the three Guides in the room was equally palpable. Without a word spoken, James and Ayisha stepped away from the entrance, lest the outnumbered Sentinel feel trapped, resulting in a feral response. Then the tension was broken, by the chirp of Napoleon's communicator.

"Solo here," Napoleon said as he uncapped the device and the sheriff watched in astonishment.

"We've turned up some additional information concerning your 'Mr Artos'," Waverly's voice could be heard by all. "He was born Jeffrey Bainbridge, of Hammond, Indiana, and was regarded by his teachers as being very bright but possibly troubled, having come from a broken home. He was a rising star in the graduate Engineering program at Northwestern, but was expelled in his second year, for selling test keys to undergraduate students. He fell into the arms of Thrush at about that time, and was probably among the handful of technicians who escaped when we raided the Chicago Satrap that was hijacking cargo ships on Lake Erie with a submarine, about eight years ago. He resurfaced as "Leroy Artos" in Marin County soon afterwards."

"Christ Almighty!" Richardson moaned after a moment."You mean that this man has been a career criminal the whole time?"

"That's the local sheriff, Sentinel Nathan Richardson," Napoleon explained to Waverly. "And yes," he replied to the sheriff. "He has. You really need to pay more attention to your Guide, when she says someone feels 'off'."

"We're coordinating between the sheriff and a local Pride," Illya took the communicator from Napoleon to report. "We'll have a plan of action shortly, and will contact you again once we have concluded the operation."

Waverly signed off with a 'Good Hunting', and Illya closed the communicator, handing it back to Napoleon.

"So," Richardson said after a long pause. "Your plan his to have this group of Sentinels evacuate the campers in secret, so that we can send a force of uniforms in afterwards and take Artos without any hostages in play."

"Unless you can think of a better plan?" Illya replied. The question was followed by a moment of fraught silence.

"No, I can't," the sheriff with a sigh, at last. "We need to start by getting Henry down to the parking lot, where someone can take him home to his dad. I can call my people back from the search as well, and assemble them in preparation for taking Artos. Can this laser weapon he has be used on targets other than airplanes?"

"Theoretically,"  Illya answered, "but it strikes a very small target. If his apparatus is set to aim it at distant objects, hitting things at close range will probably be rather difficult."

"Very well," the sheriff said, standing to head out. The others made to do likewise. Once they were all standing outside the shelter, he pulled his walkie talkie from his belt and called for Kendall.

"Good news, Gabe," he began."We've found the boy and I'm bringing him down to the parking lot now. If you can coordinate bringing the searchers in, please have them assemble there as well. I'll be apprising them of another issue we need to deal with tonight. I'll also be handing my radio over to the UNCLE agents, so I'll be off radio for a few minutes. Richardson out."

Illya took the radio, turned it off and slipped it into his jacket pocket. "We'll need absolute silence while we're evacuating the campers," he said. "But we'll turn it back on and let you know as soon as all the boys are safe."

Richardson nodded, then pulled out a flashlight and handed it to Henry. "We need to wait to turn it on till the rest of the Sentinels are out of sight," he instructed. "You ready to go home, young man?"

"Yes sir!" the boy replied. James and his pride were already melting into the shadowy forest and Illya and Napoleon soon followed in their wake. Glancing over his shoulder, Napoleon spotted the beam of the flashlight flicker on, pointed down the slope towards the base of the mountain. He and Illya were headed up, returning to the summit, where the campers would be just now preparing for bed. They had no idea their lives were in the hands of the group of outcast Sentinels heading their way, but better hands, in the current situation, they could not wish for.

 

They more or less retraced young Henry's steps on the way up, though much more expediently. Soon the eight of them stood in the fringes of forest just beyond the campground, scanning over the site. The last embers of the evening campfire still glowed at the center, but no one moved among the tents. Here and there a tent was illuminated from within by a flashlight, and a few giggles and snippets of conversation could be heard from among them.

Across the the campground could be seen the hulking shadow of Artos' camper and trailer. The man himself sat beside it, smoking a pipe. The dim glow and pungent scent of the burning tobacco identified him clearly.

"We're going to have to wait for a bit," Napoleon said quietly. "It's only 9:30."

"How will he know if the money has or hasn't been paid?" Ayisha asked.

"He probably has a radiophone in the trailer," Illya replied. "He will be able to call his Swiss banker, to find out if any funds have arrived."

"Then he will have to go inside to make the call?" Tam speculated.

"Most likely," Illya answered.  "While we wait, we should use the time to get into position—encircle the tents so that each pair can evacuate a different section."

This they agreed upon immediately, with the two senior pairs taking the two quarters flanking Artos' camper. Then they split up, moving away as silently as they had arrived, and soon Napoleon and Illya were standing next to a rock outcropping, just beyond the camper. They watched as Artos fiddled with his pipe, then tapped it against his boot, to empty the ashes. That done, he turned and mounted the steps into his camper.

"He is making a call," Illya said in a hushed voice a little while later. "I can hear him." Napoleon nodded, hunkering down next to Illya as they waited.  

"He has thrown something," Illya said after a moment. "A coffee cup, I think. Apparently, he was not pleased with what he heard."

Napoleon shook his head. "Seems he wanted the money more than the mayhem," he speculated.

As in any other stakeout, they passed the time patiently. Illya watched the moon cross the sky as one by one the flashlights in the tents went out and the last murmurs of conversation faded to silence. A little after eleven, Illya heard someone else succumb to Morpheus' charms, as the faint sound of snoring issued from within the camper.

He rose silently, Napoleon following like a shadow, and made his way to the first tent at the edge of the encampment. He stood back to let Napoleon wake the sleepers, which he did by simply untying the flaps of the canvas pup tent, so that the cool night breeze entered.

"Sshhh," he heard Napoleon admonish gently. "Sorry to wake you, but we have an emergency evacuation order. A dangerous criminal was spotted near the campground, and we need to get everyone out as quietly as possible. Grab a sweater and your sneakers, and follow me."

It took a moment for the boys to get moving, but soon they were standing at the doorway of their tent, sleepy and confused, but compliant. Illya and Napoleon led them down to the trailhead where the sheriff's men were now waiting, then jogged back up to the campground. They passed 'Mundo and Tam with another couple of boys as they went and exchanged a silent greeting.

They intercepted a boy headed towards the latrines as they approached the tents, and sent him over to join the group they'd just passed. Then Napoleon was opening another tent and giving the same speech again. It seemed like slow going at first, but as more boys were guided away, it became possible to simply direct some newly awaken pairs to follow the others which could be seen crossing the meadow towards the trailhead.

"At least Artos seems to have trained them to follow directions well," Napoleon murmured as they handed off another pair to Esperanza and Lwazi.

"I am just as glad they will not be following his orders any more," Illya said, following the sound of sleeping campers' breathing to one of the few still occupied tents near the center of the encampment. Napoleon was just crouching down to wake them when a nearby voice broke the silence.

"I ain't goin' with you! You're one of them criminal Black Panthers! You get away from me!"

"Silence child!" Ayish'a  _ Guide Voice _ cut the boy's cries short. "The police are waiting over there," she pointed across the moonlit meadow. "If we are criminals, then I welcome you to take us to them."

It was one of the older boys, of course. Napoleon passed a sorrowful glance towards Ayisha, then returned to waking the boys in his tent.

"I wonder where Frankie is," he said later, as he and Illya led his pair plus the older boys which Ayisha had waked over to the trailhead.

"His tent's up by Mr Artos' camper," one of their charges volunteered.

"Thanks," Napoleon replied. "We'll make sure he gets out safe."

When they returned to the campground, however, they found James and the rest of his pride waiting at the periphery. "The tents are all empty," he reported.

"So they are," Illya confirmed. "Unfortunately, we are still missing a boy. Frankie was not among the boys at the trailhead,"

"I was afraid of that," Napoleon said. "He's going to try to protect Artos, at any cost."

Illya nodded gravely. "Someone needs to let the sheriff and his people know that we've completed the evacuation with one exception, and explain the situation with Frankie.The rest of us need to try and find Frankie and stop him from doing something stupid."

Without another word, they split up, one pair headed down the hill to the trailhead where the police were waiting, and the rest fanning out among the tents, senses open in search for the young, nascent Guide. Illya found his tent, just where they'd been told, but it was empty. Uneasy, Illya made his way towards the camper, Napoleon close at his side.

He sensed the others, spread out in a circle around the camper but invisible to the mundane eye. He stood in silence for a long moment, then turned to Napoleon, silently pointing out the shadowed clump of bushes besides the camper's door. There Frankie's too rapid heartbeat gave him away.

"Frankie," Napoleon stepped into the moonlight, speaking softly. "You need to come with us. Mr Artos isn't who you think he is. He's a dangerous man, and you need to get away from him now."

"No! You're lying!" the boy cried, stumbling out from the bushes. "He's a good man! He's loyal to us and I'm loyal to him!"

Napoleon shook his head sadly. "Frankie, you know I'm not lying. And you know that what he's doing isn't right. You've seen the thing he's hiding in that trailer. He's going to use that thing to kill hundreds of innocent people tonight if we don't stop him."

"No! No! It's not true! I won't let you get him!" Frankie insisted, and suddenly he was brandishing a knife, the six inch blade glinting in the moonlight. Seeing it, Illya's protective instincts flared to life with equal suddenness and he strode forward, wanting to put himself between Napoleon and the deranged boy. He paused, however, as Napoleon gestured him back.

"Frankie,  _ you've got to listen to me _ ," Napoleon implored, the compelling resonances of his  _ Guide Voice _ pitched to soothe the most violent criminal. Alas, Frankie's ears were attuned to another voice—the only voice he would heed in a crisis, and now that very voice intruded on the scene.

"What's going on here?" Artos demanded, emerging onto the the front stoop of his camper.

As if he had stepped onto a stage, Artos was now suddenly illuminated in the beams of a  half dozen powerful flashlights, and the sheriff's voice shattered the quiet.

"Leroy Artos. You are under arrest! Come out with your hands up!"

Artos froze, but Frankie sprang into frantic action. With an anguished cry, he flew at Napoleon, knife upraised. Napoleon had no time to do anything but block the attack with his forearms, but Illya was upon him barely a second later. Seizing the boy by the collar, he ripped the knife out of his hands and threw him onto the ground, none too gently.

"You attack a Sentinel's bonded Guide, you forfeit your life!" he whispered harshly into the boy's ear. "You have no idea how close you have just come to death." Almost instantly, Illya caught the unmistakable odor of urine, as the boy pissed himself and his body went limp on the ground as he fainted dead away.

Rising, Illya glanced over at his Guide to see him regarding his arms beneath his shredded jacket sleeves with a pained expression."I'll be fine," Napoleon said. "Probably need a few stitches, but that's it."

Illya knew that his partner wasn't understating his injuries. That was a lesson they'd learned early on. Glancing up to the stoop where Artos had been a moment ago, Illya was not surprised to see that the man had used Frankie's distraction to make his escape. Already, the sheriff and his men were surging forward to try and follow, muddying his scent trail impossibly. 

"I doubt he'll get far," Napoleon commented. "He's probably heading into the woods."

Illya agreed. "Let's get there ahead of him," he said. "My senses will be of much more use away from all these people."

Napoleon bid him lead the way, and so he did. Illya could not say what impulse drew him to follow the course he did into the dark, looming redwoods, but his feet seemed to be carrying him on a path he could not sense.

When they'd gone beyond the sounds and smells of the pursuing deputies and police, Illya paused, and noted that Napoleon had fallen a little behind. He looked back to see him leaning against a tree.

"Damn," Napoleon said, in a voice that sparked all kinds of alarm bells. "I think that little punk poisoned his knife."

"What?!" Illya strode back towards his partner, just as Napoleon's legs gave way.

He leapt to his partner's side just in time to catch him, and the moment he held Napoleon in his arms he could feel that something was badly amiss.

"I'm guessing it's a neurotoxin," Napoleon speculated idly."Curare maybe, or hemlock…"

"I'll radio the sheriff," Illya said, reaching for the walkie-talkie in his jacket pocket. "He can get a helicopter here…" Napoleon's hand on his arm stopped him.

"Illya…  _ lyubov _ ," he murmured. "It won't get here soon enough."

For a moment Illya felt a surge of panic, like an upwelling of white noise blocking out all his senses. "No," he whispered, eyes shut tight, wanting to will away the truth of it, even as he heard Napoleon's faltering heart beat, felt his waning strength.

"No… It can't be." He found himself shaking with horror and despair, kneeling on the mossy ground next to his partner, lover and Guide and feeling his very life force slipping away.  "It cannot be."

"Sentinel Kuryakin." The voice belonged to Ayisha, James' Guide, though he had not heard her approach. Reluctant as he  was to tear his eyes away from Napoleon, Illya looked back to see the pair of them, gazing down sorrowfully.

"He is dying," was all that Illya could manage to say. He might well have said, 'I am dying,' for it came to much the same thing.

James nodded, and Ayisha came to kneel beside him.

"All hope is not lost, Sentinel," she said. "You can yet save your Guide."

This could not possibly be true, but Illya could only ask, "How?"

"The Holy Place is not far," she said. "Find it, pass the ordeals, and you will be given the strength to save him."

Illya stared at her, wanting to refuse the hope she offered, but unable to. "How do I find this Holy Place?" he asked.

"Your heart knows the way," she said, reaching across to touch him there. "The deepest instincts of your Sentinel know the way. Follow where they lead."

Illya glanced back at Napoleon, who nodded, reaching with fading strength to touch his Sentinel's face. Illya took his resolve from this, gathered his Guide in his arms and stood. With Napoleon's head resting over his heart, Illya let his feet guide him, and in only a moment they had set off.

"We will protect your trail, Alpha," he heard James call as he plunged into the dark forest. Then he left them behind, and soon they were utterly alone.

Overhead, the half moon glimmered between the tree branches, sending the occasional finger of moonbeam to fall like a signpost ahead of them. With Napoleon in his arms, Illya could not see his feet, but they wove their way between the ferns and  fallen logs as if they had their own eyes, or as if the very forest was clearing a path for him. His only sense of passing time was the gradual slowing of Napoleon's heart beat, and his diminishing breaths.

When he saw a brighter glimmer ahead, Illya thought at first that it was just more moonlight, but then he heard the incongruous cry of a hunting falcon—his own Spirit Guide. Then he was stumbling down a sudden steep slope and passing between a pair of massive sequoias, standing like a gateway.  He stopped, to find himself in a hidden grotto, surrounded by a low palisades of stone, at the center of which was a strangely glowing pool. It seemed as much some sort of liquid moonlight as natural water, but there could be no doubt that Illya had found the place he sought. He laid Napoleon down gently at the foot of one of the great sentinel sequoias and turned back to the pool.

"I am here," he said, "to save my Guide."


	5. Act IV: "Should we… stop him?"

Illya hardly knew what he expected, but he was shockingly unsurprised to see an impossibly enormous snake emerge from the pool before him. It reared up, lifting its head to the same level as Illya's, challenging him with its stare and blocking his way forward. Illya's UNCLE Special was in his holster at his side as usual, but he could not conceive of using it here. Instead, Illya drew his knife and was ready when the massive serpent lunged at him, fangs gleaming in the moonlight. He sprang back, striking out with his knife at the same time, so that the creature had to lunge away.

Like a pair of dancers, Illya and the gigantic serpent struck and leapt and parried and struck again, neither able to so much as mark the other. Furiously, Illya tried to think of a strategy that would break through the snake's lightning fast defenses, when he heard his falcon cry, her voice piercing the dark sky. Moving instinctively now, Illya feinted to the left. Even as the snake lunged after him, the falcon struck from the right, driving her talons into the snake's skull. Hissing furiously, the snake threw its head up, exposing its throat, and Illya leapt forward, plunging his knife in deep..

It almost ripped the knife from Illya's hand as the snake thrashed out its death throes, and Illya's falcon screamed as she leapt away into the air, one of the snake's eyes in her beak. The creature thrashed about for a moment more, then subsided back into the waters from which it had come and disappeared.

Illya stood, knife in hand and gasping for breath, as he watched his falcon drop the serpent's eye into the pool. As the the eye struck its surface, It boiled and frothed in reaction, and the color of the glowing waters changed to blood red. Illya took it in without a blink, as fantastical as all this was. The Sentinel within him understood that he was not in the 'real' world here, and that whatever happened, he would know what to do.

The creature that appeared next, looming up from the shadows at the edge of the grotto, was a massive wildcat, the size of one of those prehistoric creatures from the ice age. Its fangs were not so pronounced as some, but they were sizable enough. It challenged Illya just as the snake had, and Illya felt not the least trepidation that all he had to fight it was a knife. He stood, knife in hand, challenged back with a snarl, and threw himself at the creature.

A full arsenal of claws swiped at him, but Illya dodged them, fighting close where they could not reach. When the beast came at him with its teeth, Illya sprang up to straddle its back, grasping the loose fur on its shoulders with his left hand, to hold himself in place. The creature screamed with rage and leapt and bucked to throw Illya off. It lunged back over its shoulder to bite at him. Illya punched it in the mouth with the butt of his knife and shattered one of its deadly fangs.

The move put him off balance and the beast finally dislodged him, throwing Illya to the ground. He recovered quickly, however, as the giant cat did not, for it paused in its assault to rub its injured face on the ground. Illya leapt upon its back once more and tried to knife it in the throat. The beast writhed like a snake and Illya missed his target, almost losing his grip on his knife. He recovered it, and  managed to make another strike on the creature's mouth, breaking off another dagger-like tooth.

The big cat's scream was blood curdling, and made Illya shudder so that he lost his grip on the creature's fur once more. This time the beast was ready and Illya felt its claws rake over his back. More stitches, he thought in passing as he rolled to his feet and charged. Almost mindless in his assault, Illya seemed to have caught the big cat unaware, or perhaps its broken teeth distracted it. He plunged his knife right into its open mouth, piercing the brain and killing it instantly. The creature dissipated like smoke even as he pulled the knife back, and then Illya was alone by the pool again.

One of the giant cat's teeth still lay on the ground before him and Illya picked it up, following a hunch, and tossed it into the pool. Once again the waters boiled, and the color shifted and blurred to a deep, glowing green. He heard his falcon cry out again, circling above and warning him of what he already knew, that another creature was coming. This one seemed to coalesce out of the very trees around them, and appeared, for a long moment, to be nothing more than a huge, black shadow. Then it growled and Illya looked up into the terrifying visage of a monstrous bear.

Illya could not say why this one terrified him as the others had not, but he knew almost immediately that he could not fight this creature. When he dropped the knife, however, it was not fear alone that moved him. This was not merely 'a' bear, but  _ The _ Bear, the very spirit of his homeland, for all that he had become Alpha Sentinel in another land altogether. This creature was not challenging him, though he certainly did terrify. Illya must face him, but rather than fight him, must surrender to him, come what may.

"I cannot fight you," Illya said, raising his empty hands. "I am yours, Mother. I am your son. Do what you will."

The bear raised its head and roared, so that the sound echoed through the woods and, Illya was sure, the mountains beyond. The long, drawn-out cry was as terrifying as the creature itself, and Illya was hard pressed not to fall to his knees. When its cry came to an end, the bear dropped its head and met Illya's gaze, not fearless, but nonetheless undaunted. It gave a huff, as if in acknowledgement, then raised its massive paws to its own chest.

Illya watched, frozen in astonishment, as the giant bear opened its own chest to reveal the beating heart within. Now Illya did drop to his knees, still not in fear, but in awe at the sacrifice the creature offered him. It lifted its own beating heart out of its chest and handed it to Illya who stretched his arms out to take it. The flesh was hot in his hands as he held it, and then the bear was gone, dissipating like a mist at sunrise, and Illya lowered its heart into the pool before him.

For a third time the waters boiled and frothed. A scent rose from the pool this time, which Illya could not exactly describe as a perfume, but which filled him with the same sense of pleasure and safety and groundedness that he felt when he immersed himself in his own Guide's scent. Only in the presence of his Guide had Illya ever in his life felt what might be called reverence, but he was all but overwhelmed with it now. This place, he understood at last, was an upwelling of the very force that made him what he was, and granted every Sentinel their powers.

Here the force was powerful enough to work miracles, even to raise the dead, so long as a suitable vehicle could be found. Illya had passed that test, and now, it gradually came to him, the power to grant such a miracle was his. With that sense of reverence still filling his heart, he scooped a handful of water from the pool and lifted it to his lips. It was like filling himself with the essence of lightning, Illya thought, but instead of throwing off power and light, it was the sense of every little thing around him vibrating with life and sound and smell and color that was pouring into him. It could easily have been overwhelming, but he knew now, how to manage it, thanks to his Guide.

Manage it he could, but Napoleon would make it so much easier. Illya needed his Guide, and in a few short steps he was at Napoleon's side, lifting him into his arms, and laying his hands over his heart.

"You will live, my Guide," he spoke softly into Napoleon's ear. "There is so much Life here; I will fill you with it, and you will live.Your heart will beat… 

Your lungs draw breath… your eyes will open… 

Your lips will speak my name…"

… 

"Illya…?"

Illya sobbed aloud, dropping his head against Napoleon's shoulder. "Yes!" he cried.  "Oh yes, oh thank you, my Guide, you are alive; you are alive…"

"So I am…" Napoleon mused, turning in his Sentinel's arms to kiss his face and wrap his own arms, strong and sure as ever, around him. "So it worked. This is…?"

"The Holy Place," Illya finished. "It really is." Then he could say no more, and Napoleon drew him close, cradling Illya's head in his arms. 

"Sshh, my Sentinel," he murmured. "I'm alive and well, and you've saved me once again. You've been brave and clever and strong, but you can relax now. We're both okay and this is a safe place."

It was mainly shock, really, Illya told himself as he got himself back under control and sniffled back the last few tears. When he lifted his head at last Napoleon had a handkerchief for his eyes, of course, and when he had done wiping them, there were Napoleon's lips, waiting to kiss away the last traces. Then his lips were on Illya's, and his mouth tasted of life and strength, but mostly just of Napoleon Solo, Illya's Guide and partner for life.

"What did I miss?" Napoleon asked when they drew back at last. When Illya blinked to focus his eyes, he realized that both their Spirit Guides had come to join them—his falcon perched on a low branch nearby, and Napoleon's otter, romping playfully over Napoleon's feet.  "I remember you carrying me," Napoleon continued, gently preventing his otter from untying his shoelaces, "but I don't remember coming here."

"Just my 'ordeal'," Illya quipped with a smile. "I fought a giant snake, then I fought a huge, prehistoric wildcat, and then there was a bear, but I didn't fight it."

"Sounds like a Sentinel Ordeal," Napoleon mused. "This is definitely a Sentinel place. I suppose there must be something equivalent for Guides, but it's not here."

"You are saying we should go?" Illya asked. His falcon fluffed her feathers restlessly where she sat as if to confirm it.

"If you're ready," Napoleon replied. "Not to rush you…"

"No, you're right," Illya said."Artos is probably still out there…"

Even as he spoke, there came a crashing in the ferns and brush on the other side of the pool. Both their Spirit Guides froze and Illya and Napoleon looked up to see a figure dusting himself off, having stumbled down the rocky face of the palisades to land just short of the pool, across from where they sat. It was, of course, Artos.

"I knew it!" he crowed, not noticing Illya and Napoleon on the opposite shore, or not caring. "I knew it was here somewhere.I've found it at last!"

"Should we… stop him?" Napoleon asked.

Illya thought about it for a moment and then shook his head. His falcon showed no sign of preparing for any attack, and neither did Napoleon's otter, though both watched the intruder with interest. "No," he said. "He has come here, so he will face his own ordeal, and he will succeed or fail on his own."

Napoleon looked dubious, but followed Illya's lead as Artos knelt beside the pool to scoop some of the  water in his cupped hands. "At last," he said. "I will have my rightful powers; my birthright will be restored!"

Artos drank deeply from the waters, drawing a second handful once he had drunk the first. He stood then, looking around as if seeing the place for the first time.

"Yes… Yes!  I can see, I can hear… everything!" At last his gaze found Illya and Napoleon and he started towards them, skirting the pool.

"I see you, too!" he growled. "You thought you could stop me, but now it's too late! I see everything you see, hear everything you hear…"

"Do you?" Illya asked, standing to meet him. "Do you hear the night bird, singing by the trailhead? Do you smell the skunk cabbage blooming by the creek a mile away? Do you feel the rough cloth of your shirt and trousers against your skin?  Do you not feel the irritation? Is the skunk cabbage's odor not foul? Is my voice not piercing your ears? Is it not all too much?"

"Of course! I have all your powers, you Commie pinko scum!," Artos replied. "I can hear everything you can, feel everything… everything… why do my clothes feel so...? What's happening? Why can't I stop it… Why is everything so loud… so bright… Why does it hurt? It's not supposed to be like this!! Make it stop!  _ Make it stop!" _

Suddenly Artos was not advancing on them, but had stopped to tear his jacket off, then his shirt. Now he was on his knees, hands over his ears, eyes shut, shouting incoherently. He had failed his ordeal.

James and Ayisha came up out of the woods just then, as Napoleon was standing, hand on Illya's shoulder.

"That's enough of that," he said, crossing over to the quivering wreck of a former Thrush villain.

_ "Sleep now, Jeffery Bainbridge," _ he commanded, his  _ Guide Voice _ more powerful than Illya had ever heard it.  _ "Sleep now and know peace." _ Perhaps it was the effect of infusion of life force Illya had given him to dispel the effects of the poison, but Illya found himself rubbing his eyes, and he saw James blinking hard, as though fending off sleep himself.

"I am glad to see you are well, Guide Solo," James said. "Perhaps more than well."

"I'd say 'more than'," Napoleon replied. "And I have you to thank for it, in some part, at least."

"Indeed, we both owe you a great debt of gratitude," Illya added. Ayisha demurred.

"If we had not been here, you surely would have been drawn the the Holy Place on your own, Alpha," she said. "But we are glad to have helped."

"Man!" a new voice intruded on the conversation and Esperanza appeared with Lwazi in tow, the latter shaking her head vigorously. "Who just put half the forest to sleep?"

"Guess I don't know my own strength," Napoleon said sheepishly. "I just figured I'd need a little extra 'oomph' to get Artos to go down."

"You called him by his true name," James noted.

"Names have power," Napoleon replied. "I learned that back in Guide school. When a man like that changes his name, he generally does so to hide a weakness."

"How we gonna get him back to the cops?" Lwazi inquired.

"I'll carry him," James said. "I believe our Alphas have earned a rest."

Illya certainly thought he deserved something, but for now, simply to stand at his Guide's side once more, to take his hand and feel the vital, calming force of him, was all he wanted. He thanked James as the Sentinel slung Artos over his shoulder in a fireman's carry, and  together, they walked out of the forest.

  
  


Napoleon remembered about Illya's walkie-talkie about the time they arrived back at the campground. Illya retrieved it from his jacket pocket, turned it on and called for the sheriff, but it was Kendall who answered.

"Sheriff's got his radio off," he explained. "Did you say you've got Artos?"

Illya replied that they did, and that he was alive but unconscious and Kendall let him know that he'd send the sheriff to meet him and call off the manhunt. It was as Illya was putting the radio away that Napoleon laid his hand on Illya's back, surprised to see his partner flinch and to see his hand come away wet.

"Hey, what happened here?" Napoleon asked, regarding the blood smearing his hand.

"Oh… I wasn't sure how much of that was real…" Illya remarked. Napoleon gave him a perplexed frown.

"You remember I told you that a I fought a huge, prehistoric wildcat?" Illya explained. "It apparently wasn't real enough to rip my jacket…"

"But it does seemed to have ripped your back up," Napoleon commented. "Well, I guess it's stitches all around." He held up his forearms, where the bleeding had mostly stopped, but now his shredded jacket was stuck to his cuts with dried blood, which wasn't exactly comfortable.

Kendall and a few of the other searchers could be heard approaching in the dark at last, along with Tam and 'Mundo, who greeted James and the rest of their pride with relief.

"What did you do to him?" Kendall asked, shining his flashlight down at Artos, slumped on the grass where James had laid him, his only sign of life being the occasional twitch.

"Put him to sleep," Napoleon answered. "He'll probably need to be sedated when he wakes up. I imagine he'll he'll have excessive sensory sensitivity for the rest of his life."

"And… how did that come about?" Kendall asked once he'd directed two of his colleagues to assemble a stretcher from the camp's first aid supplies.

"He drank from the waters of the Sentinels' Sacred Pool, and was found wanting," James answered solemnly. "His condition is entirely a result of his own actions."

The words hung like an epitaph over the group as they watched the pair of deputies shift Artos' prone form onto the stretcher and carry him away.

"And what about the boy, Frankie?" Illya asked as he watched them depart. "Do you have him in custody?"

"We do," Kendall said with a nod. "You'll have to ask the sheriff about the details, but several officers saw him attack Agent Solo here, so there was no question about what he had done."

"You should have his knife tested for poison," Napoleon added. "Whatever he put on it nearly killed me."

"Poison!?" Kendall said, alarmed. "I'll make sure that gets passed along. Last I heard the kid was confused and despondent. The social workers apparently have him on suicide watch."

Illya shook his head in dismay. "I'm sorry to hear that. The boy is only partly responsible for his actions, but he will have to live with them for the rest of his life."

"I doubt he'll ever be fit to serve as a Guide to any Sentinel now," Napoleon said sadly. "Artos is to blame for that."

"Still, a successful hunt, and the danger to our Holy Place is no more," Tam pointed out. "We can go home now, yes? My classes will be starting again in a couple of weeks."

"Yes, our sacred watch is concluded, my brothers and sisters," James said. "Your work and sacrifice here will not be forgotten."

"The watch may be concluded," said Ayisha, "but our work is not quite done yet. We promised the sheriff that we would clean up our campsite."

"I'm glad to hear you say so," said the sheriff, just coming up the hill to join them. "I'll be holding you to your promise of restoring your campsite to its former condition, and I also want to know about what Miss Louisa Clay here plans on doing now, and where she's planning on staying."

This remark was met with blank looks all around, except for young Lwazi, who frowned in fierce indignation. "Don't be calling me by my slave name, mister," she demanded. "My name is Lwazi Kenya!"

"Whatever name she calls herself," the sheriff said, "she's a runaway, and a truant. I may let the illegal camping business pass, but not this."

"I ain't going back home," Lwazi declared, arms crossed. "Momma's boyfriend hits me all the time; says I tell lies, that I cain't be no Sentinel."

"Sheriff Richardson," Ayisha said. "Surely there must be some place else she could go? Perhaps her grandparents'?"

"My gramma'd take me, but she ain't got no place."

The sheriff gave a long suffering sigh. "Look," he said. "If your agency is willing to sign for temporary custody of this minor, the social workers will probably go along with it. There's a someone from Child Protective Services waiting with my wife down in the parking lot. She's the one you want to talk to."

"UNCLE has a standing policy of assisting any civilians who were instrumental in the success of any UNCLE operation," Napoleon replied. "We'd be happy to take temporary custody, as well as assisting Miss Kenya's grandmother in finding more suitable accommodations… if that is satisfactory to you?" Napoleon turned to Lwazi.

"Oh… um, yes sir… Guide Solo," she replied. "And thank you."

"Our pleasure, Sentinel Kenya," said Illya with a smile.


	6. Epilogue: "...not all bad news."

Before he headed up the hill to oversee the search of Artos' trailer, Sheriff Richardson offered to have his wife give Napoleon and Illya a ride to the nearest hospital, where they could get  their respective injuries stitched. Normally, Illya would have gone with the sheriff, to represent UNCLE's interests in any exotic or advanced technology Artos might have been using. Napoleon could tell that his partner was in no way prepared to be so far from his Guide's side just now, so instead Illya went with him and Lwazi down to the parking lot to talk to the social worker before heading to the hospital with his Guide.

James and the others walked with them partway down the trail until they split off, heading back to their camp to begin dismantling it. Before they left, Napoleon handed out his own UNCLE calling card to each of them, including Lwazi.

"You can call that number any time for help, advice, or if you just want to get hold of either of us, or each other," he said. "UNCLE takes your contribution and assistance very seriously, and considers itself in your debt on that account."

They all thanked the UNCLE agents sincerely and headed off into the woods, disappearing after only a few moments. Lwazi watched them go with an uncertain look on her face.

"Did you want to stay with them?" Napoleon asked.

"Yeah, but… if the police is lookin' for me, I better get things straightened out with the social worker first," she said.

It was only another ten minutes walk down to the parking lot where a handful of police cars, a Plymouth sedan and a Volkswagen bug were still parked. The eastern horizon was just beginning to lighten and they paused for a moment to take it in. Napoleon drew his partner in close, laying an arm over his shoulder, and he felt Illya relax beside him.

"That car," Illya indicated the sedan parked by the trailhead, "has two people sleeping in it."

Guide Dorothy Richardson was awake by the time they reached her, however, her own empathic senses alerted by the trio's approach. She opened the driver's seat door to get out, which in turn, woke the woman sleeping in the back seat.

"Nathan radioed that you'd be coming," she said. "That's Amanda Daniels, in the back seat. She's our local Child Protective Services agent."

"'M awake," mumbled the woman sitting up in the back seat. "There any of that coffee left?"

After a thermos cup of coffee and  a few moments to straighten her curly, mouse-brown hair, the petit social worker exited the car and introduced herself to Lwazi.

"I can help you with getting your name legally changed, if you haven't," she offered first thing.

"No ma'am," Lwazi said with real surprise. "I mean, no I haven't, and that would be great, if you could help."

"Emancipation policies for young or emergent Sentinels fleeing an unsupportive home life are very different from other childhood emancipation cases. They are much more likely to be granted. Legal name changes for minors usually have to be approved by the parents, for instance, but not in a case like yours."

Napoleon and Illya exchanged glances, sharing the realization that, as Alpha Sentinels for the US, this was the kind of thing they really ought to know about.

"Lwazi mentioned that she has a grandmother she could stay with, but that her current living situation might not be suited to sharing with a grandchild," Napoleon put in. "UNCLE has a fund for support of individuals and families who have aided in a case, and we'd be happy to offer Miss Kenya's grandmother an ongoing stipend to help her afford a better place."

"That will solve a lot of problems, thanks," said Ms Daniels. "Lwazi, do you have a way of getting hold of your grandmother?"

"Sure, I know her phone number," Lwazi said.

"Then we'll call her as soon as we get back to my office, if that won't be too early," Ms Daniels said. "We'll pick up some clothes and basic supplies for you there, and then you'll be staying with the sheriff and his wife for a little while, until your grandmother gets her new place sorted out, if that's okay with you?"

Several pairs of eyes now turned to Dorothy.

"Oh, Nathan and I often have guests from Child Protective Services," she said. "Just while they're transitioning. It's no trouble."

The last necessary formality involved Ms Daniels fetching the temporary custody papers from the Volkswagen bug parked nearby, and getting Illya and Napoleon's signatures. More UNCLE business cards were handed out, and finally Ms Daniels and Lwazi took their leave.

"She's a strong Sentinel," Illya commented as he eased himself into the back seat of the Richardson's sedan. "And James was a good Alpha for her. She might have fallen into far worse hands."

"James and Ayisha together," Napoleon concurred, settling himself into the front seat. "They showed an excellent example of a good, functioning Sentinel-Guide partnership. Which reminds me, we need to put the UNCLE legal department onto her brother's case."

"I'll mention it in our end-of-mission report," Illya reminded him, communicator in hand. Napoleon was happy to sit back and watch the pre-dawn light painting the passing sequoias with pink and yellow tinted light, while his partner made the call. Illya was thorough as always, though his account of what had happened in the Sentinel Shrine was a but sketchy. He did not omit Ayisha's brother's legal trouble, nor young Miss Kenya's situation, and Waverly was more than accommodating.

"If only he was so generous about ruined suits," Napoleon commented once Illya had finished.

"It is UNCLE's position that an investment in the good hearted and courageous individuals who find themselves assisting UNCLE agents serves as an investment in the future," Illya said, quoting from the UNCLE manual. "Your suits will not go on to be models of civic virtue."

"Well, when you put it that way…" Napoleon sighed, then thought of Frankie, whose future did not hold much promise any more.

"Guide Richardson," he began.

"Please, just Dot," the sheriff's wife interrupted.

"Dot, then," Napoleon continued. "I wanted to ask about Frankie—what's to become of him?"

"Oh, that poor boy," she said sadly. "I'd tell him you bear him no ill will over what happened, but I doubt it will make much difference."

She knew, of course, how Napoleon felt, being a fellow Guide, just as she knew that Illya felt differently about it. "Kendall said he was on suicide watch? " Napoleon asked.

"Part of him is just beginning to realize how he was influenced, and what kind of creature Artos really was," she replied. "But part of him is still devoted to the man. It will be some time before the influence wears off, I'm afraid, and in the meantime he feels terribly conflicted. The real tragedy is that he would have been a very strong Guide, but the guilt he feels will probably prevent him from ever bonding with a Sentinel."

Napoleon shook his head. "I had reached the same conclusion," he said. "If there's anything UNCLE or I can do to help in the future…"

"I've got your card," Dot said with a smile. "And it's not all bad news. Young Henry seems not to have been affected at all, though his Guide abilities are much farther away from manifesting."

"So he  _ was _ a Guide," Napoleon said. "I thought that might be why Frankie took such a dislike to him, but I didn't sense anything myself."

"He's not showing any Guide traits yet," Dot explained. "But his father mentioned that there are Guides and Sentinels in the family and after I'd spent a little time with the boy I could sense it."

"And now his parents can see to it that he gets the training he needs, and will be prepared," Napoleon commented.

"Precisely," Dot replied. "If nothing else, Frankie's fate serves as a warning to all of us, what can happen if young pre-emergent Sentinels and Guides are not identified and trained. I, for one, will be sure to share that warning with all the parents I meet."

"As you should," Napoleon said.

Illya had dozed off in the back seat, and as Dot drove on in silence, Napoleon soon felt himself falling likewise. It had been a long day and night, and they still had to keep it more or less together until they were finished at the hospital. Napoleon did doze off for a bit, but woke again as they came into town.

"I'll just drop you fellows off at the emergency room, if that's alright," Dot said as they pulled in to the hospital driveway. "I'd stay and drive you back to your hotel, but I've got to prepare Lwazi's room."

"That's just fine," Illya said, sitting up with a grimace. "We can call a taxi when we're done."

  
  


They parted with another round of thanks, then made their way into the hospital emergency room, steadying each other as they went. Given the early morning hour, they were the only ones there, and were seen to immediately. To both their great relief, the hospital staff also seemed to understand that a Sentinel and Guide pair who have just come in from some kind of action ought to be examined and treated in the same room.

It was a couple of hours before they were allowed to leave the hospital, Napoleon with his shirt sleeves cut away and Illya with his blood stained jacket draped loosely over his bare shoulders and bandaged back. An uneventful cab ride later, they were at the hotel, the clock in the lobby just striking 10 am. Napoleon steered them first to the hotel restaurant where he ordered them an enormous room service breakfast, then went straight up to their rooms.

The moment the door was closed behind them, Illya was in Napoleon's arms, pulling him into a crushing embrace as he buried his face against Napoleon's neck and simply breathed in the scent of him. Illya knew full well how fragile he became at such moments, after a hard mission where his senses had been taxed to their utmost. He hated it, and still bridled at how helpless he felt, and how dependant, but none of that mattered when he was in Napoleon's arms.

He allowed himself to be gently propelled over to the bed where they could sit together and relax, though not too much, as their food would be arriving shortly. Illya knew he probably needed nourishment as much as he needed to relax his overtaxed senses, but until he smelled food, all he could think of was immersing himself in his Guide's presence.

Much of the stress of the last few hours had come from forcing himself  _ not _ to think about how that vital, invaluable presence had nearly been lost to him tonight. He shuddered now, as the thought passed through him, and Napoleon responded, kissing his face and murmuring in the voice that never failed to calm him.

"I'm right here, my Sentinel," he said, lips caressing his cheek. "I've got you; I'll take care of you."

Illya drew a long, not-so-steady breath, then drew another, letting his Guide's scent fill his nostrils, feeling the vital strength of his partner's embrace. Keeping in close contact, Napoleon eased Illya's jacket off, so that more of his skin could drink in Napoleon's warmth. He began undoing his own buttons, but just athen, room service knocked on the door.

"One moment," Napoleon called, standing to grab a robe from his suitcase and tossing it to Illya.

Illya was loathe to let Napoleon go, but reluctantly relinquished his grasp to take the robe. As soon as the food was in the room and the food smells all but overwhelming him, however, the need for nourishment overcame even his need to hold his Guide in his arms. Napoleon took the food cart and dismissed the delivery boy with a generous tip, then rolled it up to beside the bed.

"Now we can get comfy," Napoleon said, urging Illya to scoot up on the bed while he prepared a plate of eggs, bacon, pancakes, sausages and hash browns. Once Illya had his plate, Napoleon made up his own, then joined Illya at the top of the bed, shirtless and barefoot. Illya relaxed as Napoleon came to sit beside him, shoulder to shoulder, so that they remained in contact as they ate.

Napoleon was no less famished than he, and Illya took real pleasure watching his Guide inhale his food with equal enthusiasm to his own, for a change. Napoleon watched him as well, catching Illya's side-long glances when they happened to coincide. When they were finally sated, and their dishes stacked carelessly on the cart, they both slumped down together on the bed, falling into each other's arms as though drawn by some magnetism.

The urgency Illya had felt to hold his Guide close was fading, but now came the slower, deeper work of relaxing his vigilant senses, and bringing them back to normal levels. Only his Guide could accomplish this. Only Napoleon could create the sense of safety Illya needed to lower his defenses, and sometimes Napoleon needed to pry his metaphorical fingers away, one at a time.

It was as he began to relax, warm and comfortable with a pleasantly full stomach, lying next to his Guide, that the fight began. The Sentinel within did not wish to relax, and the reason for it came, cruelly, with vivid memories of feeling the life force of his Guide slipping away as Illya held him in his arms. His whole body shuddered with the horror of the memory, but Napoleon only drew him closer.

"Sshh, let it go,  _ lyubov _ ," Napoleon murmured. "It's all right now; we're safe. You can let go now."

Napoleon's use of the same endearment he had used when he was dying triggered Illya's distress even more powerfully. A more violent shudder came, forcing a strangled sob from his throat.

"That's it," Napoleon whispered. "I know it's hard; I know it hurts, but the danger is past now. You saved me, you endured the ordeal…"

"I had nothing…" Illya gasped out, the words finding their way of their own. "I had nothing at all to lose. I don't know if I could have succeeded otherwise."

"I imagine that's how it's meant to be," Napoleon mused, fingers moving through his hair, caressing his face. "I don't expect any unbonded Sentinel would be offered such an ordeal."

Illya shuddered again, remembering the battle, his wounds smarting in sympathy. "My own life meant nothing…" he murmured. "And somehow, it gave me power."

"That power was always yours, Sentinel," Napoleon said, hand coming to rest over Illya's heart. "The power you have is for the purpose of saving lives, and when there are no lives left to save, that power is yours to wield as you wish."

"There was still one life left to save," Illya said, curling close to his Guide. "The only one that mattered. I knew if I saved your life then you would save mine, no matter what risk I took… And you did."

"And how did I save your life?" Napoleon asked, a smile on his lips as he pressed them against Illya's forehead.

"By living, my Guide," Illya said, feeling the sense of home, of peace, and of safety steal into his heart at last. "You save my life every day, just be being alive, and being you, my Guide."

And those, Illya knew, were words he could live by every day, for as long as they both lived.

 

=FIN=

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is *probably* the last of this series. It's been too much fun writing Illya and Napoleon as Sentinel and Guide, but I think these three stories make a tidy package on their own. Naturally, the possibility exists that the muse will drop another Sentinel MUNCLE story into my brain some time in the future, but for now, this will have to stand as the conclusion of the Sentinels from UNCLE.


End file.
